Chapter 1 - Bee

Love hurts, but so does getting hit by a car . . . I’d rather get hit by a car.

~ Mac, the murderlicous

Warmth comforted me like my favorite blanket as I lay back on a cushioned sun chair, the private cabana protecting my tattoo adorned skin from the unforgiving sun. As an immortal, any sunburn I might sustain would heal instantly; however, my tattoos were courtesy of an ethereal magic that could be broken if my skin became too heated. All my visible tattoos were fake. I’d never actually felt the need to permanently ink my flesh and having the ability to create tattoos at will allowed me to live out my short-lived body art fantasies. My skin was pure and blemish free, apart from the tiny arrow behind my ear, which had been made using a special dye that stained an immortal’s skin permanently. That mark was more than just ink though; that mark held my most prized possession, my blessed bow that was bestowed upon me when I came of age, which for me was fifteen mortal years. Right in the midst of my blossoming, hormonal, and slightly insane years of puberty, the tattoo was inked into my skin and it was the first time the bow appeared in my hands. With the bow came my kickass powers! Well, all the new kickass powers. As a child and young teen I already had the power to recover from an injury within minutes and I was faster and stronger than any mortal and many immortals my age. Not to mention I could trace since I was five—which is basically disappearing from one place to another. What can I say; I was advanced, as most children didn’t get that power until double digits. Once bequeathed my bow, my new powers included being able to see auras, which was the energy from a person’s soul, as well as see past impressions of a person’s life, and produce material objects with nothing more than an errant thought. Oh, and I could manipulate matter to move from one place to another, as long as I could keep my eyes on it. My time before the bow in the immortal realm had been dedicated to my education, learning the history of the gods and archery, which was wicked fun. All this preparation had been in anticipation of the moment I was thrust into the mortal realm to join my father’s business, ‘Cupids Catch’. That ingenious name was courtesy of my father, of course. A few years ago I petitioned to have it changed to ‘Catch and Release’ . . . it wasn’t received well.

‘Cupids Catch’ —bringing lovers and soul mates together for over ten thousand years. Pfft, behind my dark sunglasses I rolled my eyes. Love sucked, and I embraced my role in the family as the big, glaringly obvious black sheep when I flipped off love and refused to shoot my arrows through the hearts of potential soul mates. It was easy to spot a potential couple, my gift of seeing auras helped me with that. The smoky, colorful energy that surrounded a living, breathing being, gave me an intimate understanding of a person without even having to speak with them. When potential soul mates were in the same general vicinity of one another, their auras would reach for each other, two souls trying to merge. Rather than playing the match making game as my father’s business dictated, and shooting potential soul mates, I saved the human race from heart ache by shooting my arrows wildly at non-potential beings. No way was I allowing my arrows to form the bonds of love which inevitably led to heartbreak. What could I say, I was doing the world an important service here, I was practically a freaking super hero!

In my long existence, in both the mortal and immortal realm, I’d seen broken hearts, and that kind of deep, emotional pain hurt on such a soul despairing level that I vowed to protect those I could from taking the plunge that would lead to nothing but misery.

Okay, perhaps I’m being a little overdramatic. I had also seen true love, the endless kind. My mother and father were living proof. And I’ll concede there was also the occasional mortal mixed into that happily ever after mix, but it was rare. So rare you wouldn’t be wrong in assuming my views of love had been somewhat tainted over time, and my icy heart was now surrounded by a magnificent wall that protected me from the eternal damnation that love is.

My perfectly righteous family abhorred my flippant attitude, yet they still loved me. It was just the three of us, my mom the goddess Psyche, my daddy Eros, the god of love, and me, Hedone, the personification of pleasure. Yep, that was the name I was given at birth, Hedone, pronounced ‘head-one’. Obviously it wasn’t a very twenty-first century friendly name and you can imagine the ridiculous nicknames it attracted. Airhead, Bonehead, Dillhead, and when I was older the boys were quick to ask for ‘head’. That got old real fast. A little over three hundred years ago, I met a defiantly beautiful Greek woman by the name of Phoebe, who glued her love-rat of a husbands hand to his pecker. Her violent retribution impressed me so much, it was with great honor that I adopted her name. It had only taken a few threats of dismemberment and death before my friends eventually took to calling me Phoibe and eventually my moniker, Bee. Even my mother accepted my rebellious name change. Everyone but my father, though I took great delight in constantly correcting him.

My gaze rested on the frolicking mortals who occupied the beach before me. I enjoyed watching them; they were entertaining to say the least. Unlike immortals who lived eons and tended to get set in their antiquated ways, humans were constantly evolving and changing. I absolutely adored the ever revolving door of fashion and their latest eccentric fads. Push-up bras, butt lifting girdles and fidget spinners . . . mind blown.

I had my eye on a particular male amongst the crowd. He was stunning, with a strong physique and a cheeky smile that made him the center of female attention. He knew it, too; his arrogance was a little nauseating. He was standing amongst a group of males who had been throwing a football back and forth in the shallow water. That ball currently rested at the foot of a young woman with feminine curves that couldn’t, nor shouldn’t, be hidden behind the chiffon shift she wore over a gorgeous one piece swimsuit. She was beautiful and yet I could tell from her soft aura that she was a quiet woman. Using my power to see impressions of the past, I pushed my mind gently against the woman’s, absorbing a few of her memories which played like intermittent short films between her mostly static memoirs. It allowed me a more intimate understanding of the timid mortal. The images showed a woman who preferred to go unnoticed in a crowd. She was uncomfortable with attention; finding it difficult to talk to men.

“I don’t understand why he isn’t attracted to her, I’d do her if I played for team vay-jay,” murmured a voice from beside me.

Mac slurped noisily on her cocktail, a trucker hat with a picture of a cubby cherub on its front perched on her head of ebony hair. The tiny white with pink polka dot bikini she wore was mine. She hadn’t asked to borrow it, but our relationship was far beyond those kinds of boundaries. Raising her arm, she held up her empty glass signaling the cabana guy to fetch another drink. Mac was my best friend in the universe. Her dry sense of humor, steadfast loyalty, and longing for adventure practically made her my twin. The fact we didn’t share the same parents made that impossible. No, we weren’t spunk sisters, but we were definitely soul sisters. For almost eight centuries we had been friends, a teeny, tiny splash in the pond as far as time is concerned in an immortal’s world, and yet, after all that time, I had no idea of Mac’s familial tree. Some said she was a descendent of Poseidon, some whispered rumors she was a distant relative of Nyx, but I had my suspicions and neither of those theories matched my own. Mac had an affinity to communicate with the dead . . . literally. Every now and again she’d just zone out, and then start conversing with a corpse. Well, not an actual decaying body, more like an incorporeal form, or ghost if you will. It was creepy. That, and her ability to see the sins of all living beings as well as their auras, and her wicked temper, made me believe she might just be a descendent of someone a little bit darker—Hades. It was no secret that his own mighty powers were very similar to Mac’s. And like Hades, her hair was dark and curly, and her alabaster skin was without so much as a single freckle. Her unusual amethyst eyes darkened when she was angered and would appear almost fathomless. Regardless of the air of menace Mac carried, she attracted both men and women; they were inexplicably drawn to her, as if pulled by an invisible lasso. Right now, the bold, nauseatingly arrogant, handsome male playing football was eyeing Mac like a child might a lollipop. 

For all his faultless wrapping and panty melting smile, he was shallow and it was glaringly obvious from his aura, a yellow color but not a pretty yellow. This one was a dirty yellow heading towards brown. Impressions from his past filled my mind, and I grimaced at the conceit and arrogance this male lived and breathed. He treated women like crap and had very specific ideas of what made a woman beautiful, which had everything to do with the size of their waist and boobs, and little to do with their personalities. It was about time someone opened his eyes so that he might see the beauty in a woman who didn’t fit his size two specifications. He was going to give this woman a night she would never forget with some of the best sex of her life. Of course, I would be the illuminative tutor who would teach him this lesson.

I continued to watch the female as she feigned interest in the conversation with her friends while slipping discreet glances to the male who didn’t spare her even a casual sideways glance. No, his interest was invested in the crazy woman sitting beside me.

“He does have an adorable smile,” Mac purred.

“He needs a dose of humility, and our lovely femme fatale here needs to get laid,” I stated, before sipping on a blue cocktail with a pretty pink umbrella piercing a slice of pineapple.

“So, hurry up and shoot him then. Let's get this show moving,” Mac said just as the Cabana Guy leaned in to place her cocktail on the small table beside her sun lounge. He hesitated at Mac’s words. Human’s had become very sensitive over words like ‘shooting’ in recent times. I couldn’t blame them; they lived their lives with a ticking clock on their shoulders. Time for a mortal was brief, and things that went bang and boom were a constant threat to their mortality.

“We are playing Cupid,” I explained with a wink. “I plan to shoot him,” I pointed out the bigheaded cutie throwing the football, “with a magical arrow and then I will shoot her as well and make them fall in lust with each other.” I pointed out the curvy woman who was still feigning interest in her friend’s conversation. Cabana Guy’s eyes settled on the woman on the beach a little longer than necessary and his smile slipped before he turned and presented us with his best ‘fake’ grin, his dimples making me sigh. I was a sucker for dimples. I knew why our Cabana Guy was disappointed; he was a potential soul mate for the brunette beauty, but I was kind enough to spare him the pain that was falling in love. I had no doubt Mac would make it up to Cabana Guy later tonight. He was absolutely her type: male and breathing. Not me, though. I was strictly an immortal only gal, preferring the toned bodies of the eternal warriors and their endless stamina, not to mention their liberated views on casual sex. There was no chance of me getting tied down to a love ’em and leave ’em’ type warrior; the very last thing I wanted to do was go and get stuck in the murky, mucky well of love.

“Good luck,” crooned Cabana Guy, as he moved on to the next cabana. Mac followed him with thoughtful eyes.

“Damn,” she sighed. “He,” she pointed at Cabana Guy, “is her,” she pointed at the curvy female on the beach, “potential. Bummer, I was totally going to tap that later. Damn pooptentials!”

“Since when did that put you off?”

“Potentials taste funny when their soul mate is close by.” I raised my brow and tried not to laugh. “They do, it’s as if their body tries to repel all touch from anyone but their potential, and they taste like old moldy bread,” she confirmed sulkily.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, he has an inverted nipple.” 

“I could fix it,” Mac whispered.

With her powers, she could fix relatively small disfigurements. A wonky nipple could be rectified with the snap of her fingers, but she rarely tinkered with humans. In her words, she didn’t like “to upset the balance.” Sounded a little too Star Wars for me. I loved to upset the balance; it was my hobby.

When the handsome male before us reached out to slap a female on the ass, I snapped. The woman was actually dating another of the men playing with the silly ball, yet our good looking target had the audacity to touch her inappropriately. With nothing more than an errant thought, there was the sound of a snap in the air, and my bow appeared, sitting idly in my lap. Almost reverently my fingers fell to the object that gifted me my immortal powers and ran lovingly over the wood. The bow was stunning, and on an untried eye appeared to be made from an unassuming woody substance, carved into an exceptional looking piece of weaponry. In reality, that unassuming wood was incredibly flexible and strong, and fashioned into an elegant arch. This bow was special, only wielded by me and my father, and made from an unbreakable wood gifted by a Dryad to Eros at the dawn of time. While the bow itself looked stunning, it was the magical arrows that truly held all the power. After another of those errant thoughts, one glittering, painfully beautiful arrow appeared in my hand. It appeared ethereal, with a pearlescent glow that shimmered on the mortal plane, completely invisible to the humans’ eye, and felt warm in my hand.

“That’s so cool. I want a bow and arrow. Katniss Everdeen did wonders for its rep.” Mac sighed.

Ignoring Mac, I cloaked myself in the magic that allowed me to remove myself from my corporal form. It would appear to the mortals as though I was still lying relaxed upon the sun chair. In this form, translucent wings protruded from my back, the sun reflecting off them caused light to bounce around the cabana. To mortals it would appear like nothing more than a trick of the light or the reflection of the water off the canvas roof. My wings really didn’t do anything other than look pretty. I couldn’t fly and their manifestation was thought to be a simple throw back from my father, who did indeed have beautiful, big, powerful wings that could take him to flight. Knocking the arrow, I pulled the string taut; taking aim, I let the arrow fly. It looked like little more than a shimmer of otherworldly light as it pierced the air and burrowed deep within the chest of the handsome male.

“Bullseye!” Mac sang as I aimed my second arrow at the voluptuous beauty and shot her right in the heart.

The mortals felt no pain from my arrows, only unsatiated lust, and in the case of potentials it would be desire on a deeper level, the spark that ignites the love between two soul mates.

I settled back into my body, my wings retreating and my bow vanishing back to its secret spot right behind my ear, right over the inked mark of the arrow.

The reaction was instantaneous. The male jerked and the football spinning through the air smacked him in the face and rolled to sit at the gorgeous human woman’s feet.  She picked it up and slowly stood, preparing to throw the ball back to the rowdy group of men, but paused when the lust struck piece of finery began a slow saunter towards her.

“Here we go,” Mac whispered, rubbing her hands together and settling further back into her chair as if preparing to watch an epic movie. “I can’t believe you shot them while her pooptential is standing right here on the beach. You are epically bad, girlfriend.”

Ignoring the twinge of something that felt suspiciously like guilt, I raised my hand and Mac high fived it while our eyes remained riveted on the scene before us.

“I wanted to teach Shallow Hal here a lesson.”

“His name is Hal?” Mac asked, her nose scrunched in distaste.

“No dweeb, I was referring to the movie, Shallow Hal.”

“Oh,” she mumbled. “Then what lesson is the pretty girl learning?”

“No lesson.” I shrugged. “She just wants to get nailed by a hot guy. I saw a memory of her talking to her mom, and she hoped that on this trip she might find a little romance.”

“This isn’t exactly romance, and FYI, Cabana Guy is hotter.”

I agreed, but romance was overrated. The mortal beauty was going to leave Thailand with a satiated look on her face and her heart intact.

We turned our attention back to the show before us. Muscles was smiling that winning panty dropping smile and it was directed right at the bronze skinned beauty holding the football. She in the meantime was struck speechless, her deep, chocolate eyes burning with her own lust.

“Hey beautiful,” he murmured, boldly reaching forward to tuck a strand of her long hair behind her ear.

“Surely he can do better than that,” Mac whispered. “What kind of a pickup line is ‘hey beautiful’?” she asked, using a low voice to try and imitate the male. 

The woman on the beach glanced to her friends, looking for a little support. The women had their girl’s back and gave a discreet thumbs up. When the male’s gaze roamed hungrily over her body, I smiled. About time the jerk noticed her!

“Baby, if you were a fruit, you’d be a fineapple.”

“Oh Gods, he should have stopped at hey beautiful,” Mac groaned.

A hesitant smile lit up the face of the woman still holding the football.

“You know what’s on the menu tonight?” The woman shook her head. “Me – n – u.” She giggled.

“This isn’t fun anymore,” Mac moaned, a painful tone in her voice.

How could a man with such breathtaking looks and obvious confidence be so epically bad at picking up a woman?

The game of football forgotten, the male reached out and took the woman’s hand before they strolled up the beach toward the bar.

“It’s just like Brittany Spears, a complete wreck, and yet I’m morbidly fascinated,” I said, watching as the couple with eyes full of desire ordered drinks.

“How about we take a walk along the beach,” the human male whispered in the woman’s ear. “We’ll have more privacy and we can get to know each other a little better.”

“I think he means so they can have more privacy for nooky,” Mac added her running commentary.

“Let’s hope it’s not on the beach. Been there, done that, and had the chafe marks to prove it. Sand gets into the unholiest of places,” I murmured, recalling the beach romp that had been too uncomfortable to truly enjoy.

“Or the holiest,” Mac added with a snicker. 

The only thing that announced the arrival of my father was a shimmer in the air, accompanied by a sweet fragrance unlike anything on the mortal plane. It was the smell of love, and I knew it well. It made me sneeze. Crap, we were totally busted.

“Something smells funky,” Mac whispered. Just then, Eros strolled along the beach until he was standing directly in front of our cabana. “Hi, Mr. Cupid,” she sang obnoxiously.

“Just Eros will do,” he said, his voice a timbre that made most women cream their panties. Not me, though. This was my dad for cripes sake. That voice made me wet myself but not in a pleasant way. That tone told me I was going to get my behind kicked.

He was going through a casual faze, currently dressed in loose fitting haram pants and a short sleeved button down shirt that didn’t at all hide his physical perfection. With baby blues, tanned skin, and the facial structure of a Bond’s underwear model, my dad drew the eye of almost every mortal in the vicinity.

“Hedone, walk with me.”

He wasn’t asking. It was an order, and disobeying my father meant I’d be yanked from my sweet cabana and taken straight back home where I’d be grounded for another fifty years. Nu-huh, not again. Been there, done that, got the shaved head from boredom to go with it.

Hiding my disappointed sigh, and mumbling ‘Phoibe’ under my breath, I stood and cast Mac my best I-Got-This look. The last thing I needed was Mac’s protective instincts kicking in and getting us both punished. Some might think I was too old to be disciplined by my father, but they obviously didn’t know my father. He’d likely use his powers to lock me out of my apartment for a decade or two. He was creative like that.

“Hey, Daddy,” I sang, my fake smile in place as I skipped down the beach and joined my father. He nodded, his frown set like stone, disapproval clear on his handsome face. His bottomless blue gaze swept over my black bikini, his lip curling with distaste as it settled on the temporary tattoos. Remember how I told you some gods can be a little old-fashioned? Meet Mr. Antique, my father.

“Lose the ink, Bee.”

“But, the humans . . .”

Before I could say another word, my father took a hold of my hand and suddenly we weren’t in Thailand anymore.